Magazine Posts

A dot,
a period,
a space in time.
An era,
a place in line.
A gap,
an opening,
a portal,
a gate to go,
an age,
a date,
an object to show.
A word,
a sentence,
a paragraph below,
a time,
a life, so low,
a love
as others
and those you know.

Can a dust jacket be yellow
and become a yellowjacket?

I was at the opening of new works by one of our local oil painters at
the South End Fine Art Gallery and Expresso Shoppe. As always it’s a
guaranteed large crowd, mostly us artists and a few of our friends and
occasionally a patron or two. Regina, the gallery owner and latte
barista, always provides liberal winepours and enough hors d’oeuvres to
hold back rickets among the starving artists another week or so.

I was admiring a fine piece titled, tantalizingly enough, “Sailboat at
Sunset #56”, one of a series I’m guessing of at least 56 or more, when a
couple jostled me out of the way for a better view. I didn’t really
mind moving on, after all, there were plenty more similar offerings, but
the gentleman of the pair had caused me to spill my merlot onto the
sleeve of my last presentable Goodwill shirt, then gave me a cursory
‘scuse me,’ that sounded vaguely like ‘sue me’ before steering his
companion and her jangling earrings into the appropriate viewing angle. A
moment later they were discussing perspective and complimentary
colorations, the expressively bold brushstrokes of the sails, the
minimalist way the artist had captured the shimmer of the sea, and of
course, the price, anything BUT minimalist.

“I may not know art, ”my jostler said, sipping daintily on a white wine from his plastic
glass, “but I know what I like.” He was quite pleased at this knowledge,
no doubt gained with considerable effort. His companion wagged an
earlobe with a windchime banging to life, evidently in total agreement
with both of us on this aesthetic declaration.

I guess I was still miffed about the impromptu dye job on my best shirt, or maybe it’s just
a character flaw deeper than any fabric stain, but I smiled winningly
and said out of the cerulean blue, “I don’t know much about
biochemistry, but I sure know a good clone when I see one.” This caused
some raised eyebrows, a rolling of the eyes and the beginning of distant
alarm bells that would soon drown out the jangling jewelry. For good
measure I added, “I don’t know much about history either, but hey, I
love a good war. I know what I like.”

So okay, I cost Regina a commission and I should feel bad about that. Probably cost the artist a
sale and I should feel worse about that, but I don’t. I do happen to
know something about art, and I know what I don’t like. I guess it’s
okay to buy what you do; I just don’t think we should be proud of our
ignorance. Then again, what the hell do I know?

Visit the Skeeter Daddle Site

When your hair is shorn,
it sounds like you're a sheep.
If you have been sheared,
did it happen when asleep?

At this time in life
my physical ability
is out paced by
my physical practicality.
Don't worry about me
my physical romancality.
He's safe, he's old,
my physical fragility
is dangerously close to
my physical finality.

There are song lyrics,
real or pretend,
"Oh Lord please,
send me a Mercedes Benz."
I'm certain God doesn't
work in this way
but I'll still try, my Lord,
please won't you send me,
a new Bronco, from Ford?

As a card carrying bleeding heart snowflake liberal, I watch with bemusement the hair-on-fire panic of my fellow commies who seem to be predicting the end of the world as they know it and the demise of all things progressive. The 3.5 trillion dollar Build it Better budget, surprise surprise, is a political football. My socialist pals are wringing their collective hands, cursing the two senators who are roadblocking the bill and all the Republicans who refuse to raise the debt ceiling, hoping the Dems will take the blame for the deficits of the past, oh, couple of decades.

I admit that I gnash my teeth and pound my fists but when I calm down I try to remember we sent Trump into exile down at Mar-a-Lago to hold court with his jesters and funders, plotting a return from that grave in 2024. I expect he’ll either be in federal prison by then or his hopes for another grand entry down the T. Tower escalator will be more than likely a grand jury, just one more prediction that crashes and burns. Meanwhile, back at the sausage factory, a package will be emerging from this Congress, one that may not have 3.5 trillion as a price tag but will more than likely legislate provisions for more health care, maybe even dental, possibly prescription drug cost reductions, child care, subsidized community college tuition, climate change provisos, rural internet, all this and more. What we down here on the South End call a liberal agenda, one coming to a theater near all of us.

So maybe it won’t be a total Green New Deal and maybe it won’t be single payer national health care and probably it won’t make everyone happy, but … geez, c’mon, we’re swerving to the left in an electric car. Who knows, we might even tax the rich and the corporations that don’t pay their fair share. Quit yer crying, I say, and stop expecting perfection. Progress isn’t a bad alternative.

Visit the Skeeter Daddle Site

Someone asked me,
one time in school,
"Why do you take Home Economics?"
I replied, because there are mostly girls.
What else do you say,
when your bodies afire,
and those raging hormones
shrink your teen age brain.
I shall not answer,
I won't try to explain,
as I will not suffer,
for my youthful disdain.

I went to a gathering
of friends and relatives,
I hadn't seen in a while.
I saw my Aunt and
said who I was.
She wasn't sure, so
she said, "Please smile."
I don't have much to
see, it's more like a grin,
but my Aunt said to me,
"Yes you are him."

Working on a six pack,
going on the lam.
Am I drinking beer
or leaving, like in scram?
Hit me with your best shot,
record it with your cam
as if there was no tomorrow
across the countries, mass of land.
Leave this place forever; forgive
but do not remand
for instead of a solid foundation,
your footing will be sifting sand.

Three ants on a twig,
struggle with the breeze.
Next time, one said
we will stay with the trees.

"I live near Seattle and for the first time since 1924, Seattle has an NHL franchise. Now hockey is the sport everyone here is talking about. The team is called the Seattle Kraken.If you’re like most hockey fans, you probably have many questions" Read more